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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27579866">I want thy Nero, thy Bedlam lament</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrJackstraw/pseuds/DrJackstraw'>DrJackstraw</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Batman - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Enjoy some begging and blowjobs in a dark alley, F/M, The doctor had become the Scarecrow while you were recovering, You're emotionally stunted after the Fear Serum experience, and make the doctor chase you down just to feel something again, so he's hard to miss, where the only god around to hear your screams is the one scaring them out of you</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 21:56:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,005</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27579866</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrJackstraw/pseuds/DrJackstraw</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>You were once Dr. Crane's patient. Now, you're the Scarecrow's prey.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jonathan Crane/Reader, Jonathan Crane/You</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>45</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>I want thy Nero, thy Bedlam lament</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Initially posted on Tumblr under the title "I Want Your Horror, I Want Your Design, it lacked the gratuitous grossness this one has in abundance. I dusted it off, put an actual dick in it, and changed the title from a Lady Gaga lyric to the medieval equivalent of a different Lady GaGa lyric.</p><p>Yes, I was listening to "Bad Romance" by Hildegard von Blingin' while rewriting it.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Through a clattering of teeth and a quivering lip, you pleaded. "P-please."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Through a pair of patched-up eye holes and a sewn-on smile, the Scarecrow watched you plead. “Please? Please what?</span>
  <em>
    <span> Please, no more? Please stop?</span>
  </em>
  <span> What is it, child? What do you see?” He was nothing more than silhouette through the smoke, an apparition in the alleyway, and a whisper in the dark. He had to know how much taller his shadow had stretched on the wall, how much wider his grin had grown and how much deeper his voice had gotten. He had to know. “What do you fear?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please.” You were gasping for air, drowning in your own cries. Falling into a pious pile, you struggled to stand up on your knees with your shaking hands clasped tightly together. You were no longer pleading - you were praying. “Please don't leave me.” When you finally blinked back enough tears away, you looked up with all the clarity of a calm body of water. So crystalline were those two pools, that he recognized his own reflection in them. “Don't leave me, doctor.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something had struck. Maybe the skies above opened and a bolt of lightning blinded the night. Maybe a clock tower announced the witching hour. Or maybe it was neither divine or demonic. Maybe it was quaking right beneath his feet: Scarecrow's victim and the doctor's patient. And you had both of them backing away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“D-don't leave me again!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please,” you sobbed, swatting at his retreating boots. Your whimpers were that of a petulant pet, starved for attention. “I can't dream without you. Every since that night I go to sleep praying to see you again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That night?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stopped his stomping and stood, stiff as wood, as your fidgeting fingers finally found his feet. And if your lips latched onto the worn-out leather, it was only because he allowed it. “Every night, doctor. Every night since you...you filled me with your poison.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Filled her with his- </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>, of course! You must've been one of the lab rats he'd pump the first batches of Fear Serum into. You must've been one of the frightful few that escaped his old rusty cage. It had been new and shiny once, back when people used to address him properly and trust him wholly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He used to be a University professor, you know? He used to hold lectures on the physiological effects of fear like the misattribution of arousal. You would've made for the example!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was then and this is now. The little mouse had willingly walked into his trap. You’d been caught before and was back for more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Doctor,” you gasped for breath, grasped his pants then pulled yourself up his legs to meet with his thighs. “Plea-AAAH!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dr. Crane isn't here at the moment,” he hushed you and your hisses of pain as he yanked you back by your hair. “I'll make sure he gets your message. Now,” he tongues his canines as if he could sharpen them with a lick. “What was it again?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Your words were warbled and your fingers were trembling to their tips, but they both went straight to his crotch: “Haunt me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the mouth of the wolf, the prey surrendered herself fully. Oh, but what were you thinking? You weren't thinking, so you must've been praying. You were praying and he was the only god awake to hear you.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Every night, every dream,” you licked your lips when your hand got a hold of something hot, something stiff, something he could use for a gag, but he won't. He'd rather hear you beg some more. “Every waking moment.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Scarecrow sucked in some cold, crisp air and some bitter, stinging Fear Toxin. A heartbeat later, he snarled some hot breath through his teeth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I beg of you,” you bowed her head. His grip on your hair must've loosened because your cheek came in contact with the outline of his cock. “Have mercy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nobody had ever dared to call the God of Fear “merciful” before. Even after the pity he took on the poor soul slobbering over his patched-up crotch, mouthing his length and blabbering about your wet night terrors, there would still be nobody bold enough to do so. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Open wide,” But wasn’t petting your hair with one hand, instead of pulling on it, mercy? Wasn’t pulling himself out of his pants also mercy? “Wider.” And wasn’t he just goddamn saintly when he chose to purr instead of growl as you took him in your mouth? “Good.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The chill of the night was chased away by a wave of warmth. It splashed against your spine and dripped all the way down. As you pressed yourself against the boot that stood between your knees, you knew where it had all pooled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Would you scream for me?” Detaching your lips from his dick, he denied you. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” you slurped up the drool that dripped off of his shaft.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What was that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” you shouted, stroking him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good girl.” He pushed himself back in and threatened to go down your throat only to pull himself out at the last breath. You had no more air to plead with, to pray with. When he snatched your skull to drill in deep, you had no more dreams to lose, no more nightmares to fear. The Scarecrow had taken everything from you, everything you had laid at his altar. “Scream for me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A hiss could be heard, Lucifer slipping into a snake’s skin, as a mouth-full of gas was sprained into your mouth from his worn leather wrist. It tasted like terror and you swallowed it all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, as you humped the heel of his boot, a fire in your loins and a bitch’s heat in your cunt, you shouted for all the streets and all the stars to see. You screamed for the man who was making you feel and fear this way. No, not the man. The Scarecrow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Through a torn throat and a punishing pleasure, you screamed. “Please.”</span>
</p>
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